


Let's Try This Again [or a different conversation on the tarmac]

by welovethebeekeeper (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff. Fix it fic for His Last Vow, HLV alternative ending, M/M, Masturbation, Porn., Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:59:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/welovethebeekeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another attempt at HLV ending. This time Sherlock and John confess all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“John, there is something I should to say, I’ve meant to say always but never have, since it’s unlikely we shall ever meet again, I might as well say it now....”  
John knew, he KNEW, from the look on Sherlock’s face that the forthcoming words would devastate him. In his mind flashed the memory of trying to hold back tears as Sherlock told him wonderful, beautiful things during the Best Man’s speech. John felt panic fill his chest, adrenaline quickening his heart muscles. The realization screaming in his brain that he couldn’t hear this now, he couldn’t hold himself together. John sucked in his cheeks, gritted his teeth and armed himself for the bullet Sherlock was aiming at his heart.  
Their eyes met, for a second Sherlock thought about retreat; make a joke, end on nonsense and a smile. Then his treacherous, stupid, heart erupted. Words flowing like lava, burning him and John, as the truth erupted from his mouth:  
“I am devastatingly and irrevocably in love with you.” Sherlock was aware he was speaking and wondered how that had occurred. It astonished him that he had the ability to be coherent in the face of his heart breaking into a thousand pieces, each with John’s name emblazoned on it. “I don’t ask for reciprocation. Never expected that. Your friendship has sufficed. However I cannot leave without you knowing this truth. I want you to know that you were loved by me in totality. I am unworthy of you I realize. I know I am incapable, an idiot in fact, concerning sentiment, yet the truth remains. I have loved no other and never will. I shall long for you everyday for the rest of my existence. Which I deduce will not be of a long duration. I treasure every second I have known you. You are everything to me. You are the summation of all that was good in my life.”  
John was floating; floating in a pool of shock, incredulity and panic. He stared at Sherlock with a stunned gape. He felt light headed, slightly nauseous and giddy. He wondered if he inadvertently smiled or even giggled with joy. He registered that he had tears in his eyes. Oh God, was he crying? He also became aware that he had unconsciously moved closer by one footstep to Sherlock, and that his left hand had clenched the fabric at the front of the Belstaff in an effort to keep Sherlock from moving away or heaven forbid, onto that plane. He became aware that Sherlock had stopped speaking and was awaiting a response.  
Sherlock’s eyes looked so green. They conveyed everything left unsaid. John was lost for a second in the depths of them. The one word that pierced John’s conscious was ‘Yes.’ Yes, this was what John craved, what John wanted above all else, this was John’s life. And it was about to leave on a private jet forever.  
John’s arms encircled Sherlock, pulling him tight, and John found himself encased in the folds of the Belsatff coat with his forehead pressed to Sherlock’s clavicle, Sherlock’s arms around him responding with a hug that felt desperate and tight; far too tight. John was aware of Sherlock’s mouth pressed to the top of his head, and the slight shudder from Sherlock revealed heartbreak.  
Suddenly from somewhere inside John, came a burning need to act. Sort this out. Make things right.  
John leaned away just enough to be able to look into Sherlock’s face and make eye contact. Oh, they were both crying, damn it. John swallowed, his hands solid on Sherlock’s waist underneath the coat.  
“It doesn’t end like this. Oh no. Not like this. Fuck everything Sherlock, there is no way you are leaving me again. What the fuck was I thinking, I’ve been caught up in the doldrums of all this drama, and here we are saying goodbye. No. No. Not going to happen.”  
Sherlock looked down at John with a look of devotion, a sad smile at the corner’s of his mouth. “I have to go. It’s my sentence. My penance for Magnussen. It’s this or prison. You know I would not survive incarceration.”  
Determination was written across the face of John Watson. “You are not getting on that plane.”  
Sherlock smiled with fond acceptance. “Out of options. You know my timing is terrible.”  
A groan of distress left John’s mouth, as his face crumpled with the pain of acknowledgement. John reached up and fixed a hand at the back of Sherlock’s neck, and pulled until Sherlock’s ear was in line with John’s lips. John began to talk: “You listen to me, you are such an idiot at times, an idiot, Sherlock. You are the most important person in my life, and I will die, I will die Sherlock, without you. Not Mary, not the baby, not some domesticated existence with roses around the door, can stop it. I have been dying since the night you walked out of my wedding reception. Slowly and surely, John Watson is dying. And this, this crap here and now, is the final blow. So no. NO. It all ends here. I fucking adore you and you are the only person I will ever want to be with, to live with, spend the rest of my life with. I had no bloody idea you felt the same, or this shit would not be going down. Now I know your truth, and you know my truth. Yes?” John stopped speaking and pulled back.  
Sherlock lifted his head and gazed at the horizon, tears rimming his eyes and one gracefully rolling down his cheek. He took in a breath, and looked down at John. “All that I am, John Watson, is yours. I am honored that you return those emotions. But I still have to get onboard that plane. My brother’s career depends upon it. You have responsibilities; a wife and future child that depend on you. At this time I see very little option.”  
Their eyes locked and they gazed at each other, so many unspoken words of love left to be conveyed by their intimate understanding of each other’s facial expressions. Seconds elapsed into minutes.  
Across the tarmac, standing by the steps to the plane, Mycroft sensed that it was time to intervene. He moved slightly closer to John and Sherlock:  
“I am afraid the time has come to leave Sherlock. Your flight must take off to meet the set flight plan.”  
Sherlock signed and grimaced, then rose as a peacock in his stance. “Time to go and be Sherlock Holmes.”  
“You are my Sherlock. That is who you are. The real you. Never forget that.” John broke down as the words tumbled through tears.  
A smile of resignation and Sherlock turned. He nodded to Mycroft and briskly ascended the steps to the plane. He disappeared into the interior with a swish of dark charcoal wool.  
Mycroft looked at John then turned to Mary. “Time to take your husband home.” He gestured to the car.  
Mary had been deliberately avoiding looking at the poignant farewell between John and Sherlock. Her back had been turned, she had blacked out the entire episode. Now she rejoined the proceedings and walked across to John. He looked at her with confusion.  
“Come husband, it’s time to move on now.” Mary took hold of John’s hand. She attempted to give him a smile of empathy, but it translated as patronizing.  
Mycroft was instructing the MI6 agent to close the plane door. The pilot could be seen in the cockpit administering to the preflight instrument check.  
Then John was moving, pulling out of Mary’s grasp and towards the closing door of the jet. Mycroft caught him by the arm.  
“Afraid not John. You do not want to go where he is going.” Mycroft sounded calm.  
“How, how can you let him do this, go into exile. Alone. With Christ knows what dangers to face?” John hissed tugging his arm away. He pushed the MI6 agent aside and jumped to pull the handle of the plane door open and have the stairs descend.  
“John.” Mary admonished.  
“John really, this is not helping.” Mycroft snapped as the steps to the jet hit the tarmac as the door unfolded down.  
John was up the steps, as he reached the doorway, he turned. Looked at Mary, her hair wind blown, her face full of rage.  
“It would never have worked Mary, you know that. After all that has gone on, all the lies. I would never forgive you for shooting him. It’s best to end it now.” John turned his eyes to Mycroft. “If you are sending him off to an unknown fate, then you send me too. Pull strings, do whatever it is you do. I’m not letting him go alone, not this time.”  
A surprised smile danced across Mycroft’s face, then was immediately replaced with the stoic countenance typical of the elder Holmes. “Thank you John. It appears you have chosen a side. I assume this is your final decision?”  
“Yes.” John nodded and turned into the cabin.  
Mary attempted to go after him, but Mycroft blocked her way. “No Mrs Watson. I think the decision was quite clear. I advise you withdraw from the field now.”  
Mary cast daggers at Mycroft, her face thunderous, but a eery calm swept over her. She turned and went to the car, folded herself into the back seat and shut the door. Mycroft gestured for the car to drive off.  
Inside the plane John had made his way down the short aisle. Sherlock turned to look at him as if he was perpetrating the most ridiculous act in the history of all ridiculous acts.  
“What?” John sat down in the opulent beige leather seat and fumbled with his seat belt.  
“You cannot come.” Sherlock stressed.  
“Then you cannot go.” John smirked.  
“I, I have to go.” Sherlock’s voice rose an octave.  
“Then I am going with you. End of.” John settled back into his seat, a resolute expression on his face.  
“John, it’s a suicide mission. I won’t let you do this.”  
“Stop bloody trying to save me Sherlock. We agreed several years ago, at a deserted swimming pool late one night if memory serves, and as I recall we agreed to die together. Remember that?”  
“Yes. However it was not a decision in ad infinitum John.”  
“Was for me.” John gave a smirk.  
Sherlock looked across the aisle in stunned silence. As the plane began to taxi across the runway, John looked out of the window and saw the car carrying Mary driving off in the distance. Life changing decision made, he relaxed in his seat and looked back at Sherlock.  
“Get use to it. I am here, exactly where I should be. Next to you. So have a quick pout and then let’s see if this plane has any alcohol.” John was suddenly in a good mood.  
“But....you.....John really.....” Sherlock was stumbling over the reality of the events. “I...”  
“You’re the love of my life William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Get use to it. It looks like you are stuck with me now.”  
Sherlock suddenly broke into a smile, then from deep inside himself, laughter emerged. “This may be the most ridiculous thing we have ever done.” He laughed. “Flying off into the sunset to die. Or maybe the most romantic.”  
“Mr Holmes.” The cabin steward came towards them holding out a mobile phone. “It’s your brother.” He handed the phone to Sherlock.  
“Mycroft?”  
**********


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I couldn't let this one go. Needed to get to consummation.

The plane touched down on the tarmac and taxied to a stop. The steward unbuckled his seatbelt, stood and smiled at the two passengers.  
“I’ll get your coat Mr Holmes.” He walked down the aisle to the back of the jet.  
Sherlock sighed, his head resting back on the head rest, eyes closed. “Is it inappropriate to be disappointed?” He asked.  
“You too?” John looked over at him. “Thought we were finally running away together, on a dangerous adventure.” Sherlock opened his eyes and smiled at John.  
“It did have the taste of reckless abandonment about it.”  
“That wouldn’t be a hint of romance I hear would it? John smirked.  
“Perish the thought John.” Sherlock feigned a scoffed expression as he released himself from his seat and stood. He turned into the aisle and fastened the button on his jacket, straightening his clothing. John looked up at him.  
“Sherlock, when we leave this plane, we’re still running away together. Only it’s back to Baker Street.”  
Sherlock looked at John, a gentle expression crossing his face; “Yes. A decision I hope you will never regret.”  
John stood up and placed his hand on Sherlock’s arm. “The fact that we didn’t leave for a suicide mission is irrelevant. Well it may have spurred me to act but I made my decision, the only one I could make, the decision I would have made eventually anyway.” Sherlock nodded.   
“Here be dragons John.”  
“What?”  
“Oh something Mycroft likes to say, referring to the dangers all around us at home. I fear we may be just as vulnerable in London as we would have been in Eastern Europe. Maybe more so, your furious wife for a start.”  
“Yeah.” John grimaced. “Need to deal with the fallout.”  
“Shall we?” Sherlock gestured to the open door of the plane, the steward waiting with the Belstaff in hand.  
“Ready when you are.” John assumed his soldier posture and followed Sherlock to disembark the jet.

*********  
“Of course it was me!” Mycroft snapped. “I couldn’t let you go off to certain death, even if your life expectancy had greatly increased due to the presence of the good Doctor. I had to have an excuse to keep you in the country, and that excuse had to carry merit. Moriarty terrifies everyone in Whitehall, he was the obvious choice.”  
“Wait, wait.” John spoke. “You hacked into every broadcast simultaneously airing in Britain in order to do this diversion? Mycroft I have a new found respect for you.” John and Mycroft smiled at each other.  
“The fact that it worked is the mystery.” Sherlock was looking out of the window at the Thames. “Having a dead megalomaniac taunt the nation on their television screens does lack finesse brother dear. I would thought it a tad too heavy handed for you.”  
“I lacked preparation time. Under the time constraints you forced onto me, I consider it an adequate ruse.” Mycroft was now looking smug. “We shall play it out for a few weeks, just until I can get you a full pardon and your record expunged.”  
Sherlock crossed the room and took a seat at the conference table. The large oak paneled room at Vauxhall Cross, the home of Britain's MI6, was intimidating in it’s timeless decoration. John took the chair next to him and they both looked expectantly at Mycroft.   
“We shall have enough evidence to warrant a full exhumation of the grave, and to set several task forces in motion. We may even capture some of the remnants of his network if we are lucky. In due time we shall lay blame on one of Moriarty’s associates and be done with it. You shall be working out of 221B, with all access to any of our files. I shall provide adequate fodder to keep the press, the special services and the government worried.”   
“I may as well take the time to investigate the remainder of his network.” Sherlock was almost nonchalant, “I am presuming I am still barred from case work with the Yard?”  
“A few months Sherlock and you can resume.” Mycroft assured. “I have taken the liberty of having an agent collect some of your belongings from your abode John. They will be at Baker Street for you.”  
John shook his head, a tad displeased. “I would have done that.”  
Mycroft looked at Sherlock and raised a questioning eyebrow. His brother responded with a frown. “Well, let’s get you back home. A car will be waiting under the portico.”

********  
Walking into 221B had always felt like coming home to John, and this day was no exception. He ignored the suitcase at the top of the stairs, obviously containing his things, and entered the living room taking off his jacket and hanging it on the hook at the back of the door. Sherlock followed him in, removing gloves and scarf in a time honored motion. He took off the Belstaff and waited for John to sit down before hanging the coat on the hook next to the one that bore John’s jacket. Sherlock turned and went to the desk and opened his lap top.  
“Need to reprogram. I deleted everything thinking I would not return.”   
“You can remember most of the stuff you had on it.” John knew. “Shouldn’t take you longer than a few days to get everything back up and running.”  
“Maybe thirty five hours.” Sherlock corrected. “Depending on interruptions.”  
That statement unexpectedly sounded like sexual innuendo? Both men had the same thought. An uncomfortable silence fell as unexplored territory spread out before them. Sherlock pretended to inspect the content of the screen in front of him with serious intent. John stared across the room at Sherlock’s profile.  
“Sherlock...” John began. “Err, maybe we should talk. It was all a bit....well....emotional at the airfield. Do we want to revisit that subject?”  
“No. No need.” Sherlock replied with curt clipped words, now fake typing on his lap top.  
“OK.” John sighed. “Tea?”  
“That would be lovely John, thank you.” Sherlock finally looked at John and grinned.

******  
It was one a.m, John had dozed in his chair after clearing away the evening meal. Sherlock had stopped working on his laptop just long enough to eat John’s signature dish of fruity chicken korma, Bombay potatoes and pea and spinach samosa. There had been two bottles of a pinot consumed over a four hour period, which more than likely enabled John to fall asleep in the warmth of the fire, with the rhythmic sound of Sherlock’s typing on his lap top as background music.   
John woke and focused his gaze across the room to Sherlock, who had changed at some point during John’s nap, now he wore his pajama bottoms, tee shirt and blue dressing gown. John noticed that Sherlock had been fluffing his hair, as it was now a riot of curls, soft and uncontrolled.   
John decided to go to bed. It had been a memorable day: A tearful heartbreaking goodbye, love declarations, a break up with Mary, a flight into danger, then an about face and back to normality inside 221B. Soon they would have to discuss everything, but that could wait for another day. John announced his intention:  
“Think I’ll turn in Sherl. It’s been a hell of a day.”  
Sherlock hummed in reply, engaged in his work on screen. John slowly rose from his chair and walked over to the detective, standing behind him, and intending to pat him on the shoulder in a gesture of fond goodnight. However John found himself reaching into Sherlock’s curls and gently stroking the mass of beautiful hair just as he had longed to do for years. Sherlock stilled, then leaned back into the touch. Encouraged John began to massage Sherlock’s scalp, occasionally twisting spirals of curl around his fingers and then letting the hair free to spiral back of it’s own accord. John was mesmerized.  
“I apologize John.” Sherlock sounded calm and quiet. “I don’t know the protocol.”  
“What?” John was confused with the statement. “Protocol?” John continued his ministrations.  
“Yes. The exact protocol is unknown to me.”  
“What protocol?”  
“How to proceed in matters of the heart.”   
John was overwhelmed by feelings of nurture, he suddenly wanted to love and cosset Sherlock, wrap him in a snuggle blanket and cuddle him till time itself came to an end. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock’s head. “There isn’t a protocol. Just us. Just me and you. However you want to do this is fine.”  
“I would really like to progress, but I lack the skills to facilitate that action.”  
“You seemed to know how to progress when you were fooling Janine Hawkins.” John instantly regretted bringing that subject up. It sounded jealous and petty, yet Sherlock appeared unaware.  
“An illusion. I can pretend John. Now it’s real, and when I have everything to loose, I find I am.....lacking in so many skills.” Sherlock sighed and finally turned in his chair to face John. “I did very little with Miss Hawkins. I avoided intimacy by diversion. The pinnacle of our physical relationship was the scene you witnessed here in the flat. I confess that scene was played entirely for your benefit. I wanted to make you jealous.”  
“You succeeded.” John brushed an errant curl away from Sherlock’s eye. “I was sick to my stomach with jealousy. Seething.”  
“Good.” Sherlock smiled.   
“You really want this?” John needed clarification. “Touching? Kissing?”  
“Yes. Of course I do.” Sherlock whispered.  
John slowly ran the his fingers down Sherlock’s cheek and then a thumb across Sherlock’s lips, tracing the cupid’s bow. Sherlock closed his eyes and arched into the touch. The realization hit John: He’s hungry for physical connection.   
“Has anyone that loved you ever touched you?”  
“No one has loved me.” Sherlock replied eyes opening and seeking John’s. “My experience is solely as an actor, and even then it has never been more than cursory.”  
“I love you.” John gazed into Sherlock’s eyes. “I would be honored if you would let me touch you.”  
“John, show me. I am consumed with this need for you.”  
John placed a hand on either side of Sherlock’s head, leaned down and gently kissed him for the first time. Lips were soft, slightly dry and at first John applied light pressure, but slowly started to move and suck at Sherlock’s lower lip, eventually allowing his tongue to swipe across in a quick caress. Sherlock gave a small moan and copied the action, kissing John in return. John pulled away just enough to speak.  
“Follow my lead.” He whispered and returned to kissing. The kisses grew in intensity as John led and Sherlock then copied, a give and take dance, escalating in passion. Sherlock felt light headed, his need for John demanding more and more purchase. His hands clutched at John’s waist and pulled, eventually wandering around to cup the cheeks of John’s arse. John groaned and stopped kissing.  
“OK. We need to take this either onto the sofa or into the bedroom.”  
‘Bedroom.” Sherlock reached up in an effort to reinstate the kissing, but John took his arm and pulled him up from the chair.   
“Your bedroom.” John directed and turned to walk in that direction. Sherlock felt as if a chain had attached to his heart and was directly tethered to John’s heart, he was physically compelled to follow John into the bedroom. John entered the dark room and stood waiting for Sherlock, once they were together in the room there was a moment of realization: years of sexual tension were demanding resolution.  
John moved and took Sherlock in his arms.

*******


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be porn.

It was if a dam had burst; Sherlock could not, could never, get enough of John. He was frantic to touch every inch of John, kiss, lick, smell, taste and just love John, allow the emotion to transpire into physical evidence of his need and want. The momentum of Sherlock’s onslaught took the two men across the room as one, ending in the safe destination of Sherlock’s bed.  
Clothing was askew, hair disheveled, breaths rapid. John attempted to slow the proceedings but keep failing as his own desire was demanding it’s due. It was chaotic, neither man had ever felt such overwhelming urgency.  
Sherlock was aware of sounds, probably moans, that were being emitted from his throat. John was adoring every one of those moans, he could listen to that noise for eternity and never tire of it; he was the cause of the glorious sound. Sherlock was also saying John’s name as a benediction, with John’s answering response tending to the school of obscenity; the word ‘fuck’ being the more common term in use.  
Suddenly Sherlock stilled. “John?” He sounded alarmed. “I appear to have an erection.”  
John giggled. “Yeah! So have I. What did you expect?”  
“I have never experienced an erection in the presence of another person.”  
“Oh.” John was reminded of the reality of the situation for Sherlock. “It’s fine, here.” John maneuvered from underneath Sherlock and stood up. The only light in the room was from the moonlight via the window, but it was adequate for Sherlock to observe as John rapidly removed his clothes, revealing his erect cock. Sherlock sat up on the side of the bed and looked in awe at the man standing naked in front of him. Sherlock raised his hand to the large scar that graced John’s shoulder. It was the first time he had seen the scar in it’s entirety. Long elegant fingers traced the topography of the keloid skin, sensuously exploring the undulations and irregularities. John closed his eyes. Sherlock was the first person to touch him in this manner; reverent and inquisitive. Sherlock rose to stand and bent his head down to kiss the scar.  
“This brought you to me. It is exquisite.” Sherlock’s voice had discovered a new depth of pitch, it reverberated through John causing a shudder. John opened his eyes and watched as Sherlock kissed his way across the damaged skin.  
“Naked Sherlock, I need you naked.” John whispered. Sherlock haltered his ministrations to John’s shoulder and smiled. He lifted his head and nodded, then pulled his tee shirt over his head and let his pj bottoms fall to the floor. John took in a deep breath, as he took in the vision before him. “Oh God you are beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off you.”  
Sherlock stood and accepted the compliment with unabashed delight. John moved his body closer and ran his hands across Sherlock’s pectorals and down his arms, he then circled Sherlock to stand behind him and fondle Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock keened and moaned as John kneaded the domes of Sherlock’s butt cheeks.  
“I adore your arse.” John stated, his voice heavy with lust. “I have wanted this arse since I first laid eyes on it.” He dropped to his knees and began kissing and sucking the lavish and plump area. Sherlock arched in erotic delight and accepted homage. John’s tongue finding it’s way into the cleft, beginning to journey downwards. At this point Sherlock had to take him self in hand, hard and leaking, as John was lost in the glories of Sherlock’s arse. John’s hands parted Sherlock’s cheeks and his tongue circled Sherlock’s hole, the shock of sensation in such an intimate place made Sherlock cry out and move a step away. He turned to look at John.  
“Too much?” John asked, still kneeling on the floor, as his eyes dropped to Sherlock’s cock . Sherlock still in the process of stroking himself.  
"No, just......unexpected. New experience.” Sherlock explained.  
“Sort of the obvious destination.” John smiled. “Here, lie back down.” He stood up as Sherlock spread himself on the bed. “You need to tell me what you want, what’s off limits.”  
“I only know I want you.” Sherlock replied, still gently tugging at his own erection. “Nothing is off limits.” John took stock of the situation: Sherlock’s first time, they can’t get enough of each other, Sherlock is having to wank himself. John formulates a plan.  
“Right, spread your legs so I can get between your gorgeous thighs.” John sounded playful. Once Sherlock had complied, John climbed back onto the bed and positioned himself. He swatted away Sherlock’s hand, and took over the stroking. Sherlock fell back on the mattress and groaned in pleasure. “That’s better.” John ginned, intent on making this experience wonderful for Sherlock.  
“Wait.” Sherlock struggled to lift his head. “I use KY to masturbate. It’s in the drawer.”  
John retrieved the lube, administered it to his hands, and resumed the stroking of Sherlock’s long and elegant prick. He rolled back the foreskin and then bent to lick the exposed corona but Sherlock uttered a sound so deep and dirty that John had no option but to start sucking the head of the cock. John’s hand cupped and rolled Sherlock’s balls; John could feel that Sherlock wouldn’t last long. John finally took Sherlock’s cock in as deep as he could, his head bobbing, his throat opening to receive as much of Sherlock’s length as possible, and deep throated as if his life depended on it.  
Sherlock was only aware of a galaxy behind his closed eyes, oxytocin and serotonin spiking to create optical fireworks interspersed with white flashes in his brain. He was lost to desire and sexual need. His climax arrived and he released suddenly, streams of come exploding down John’s throat, he keened forward and found himself yelling John’s name.  
John swallowed, relishing the reaction he has caused in Sherlock. The knowledge that he was the first to ever do this to Sherlock, to ever see him in the throws of passion, stored in John’s memory, with the indelible image of a Sherlock lost to orgasim becoming a cherished and much visited visual memory for the rest of John’s life.  
Eventually Sherlock stilled and collapsed back onto the mattress. John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was, that was incredible Sherlock.” John took in the lovely sight of Sherlock before him, noted the taste of Sherlock in his mouth, and felt his own erection harden. John started to wank himself with one hand and gently caress the inside of Sherlock’s thigh with the other.  
Sherlock stirred and lifted his head to watch John. They locked eyes and John laid himself open, showing Sherlock every iota of desire he held for him. John tugged hard on himself, his hips undulating slightly. John licked his lips.  
“I have wanted to go down on you for so long, for you to fuck my mouth and spurt down my throat, oh God you even taste good. I want that every day, I want you to come on me, in me, I want to fuck you into oblivion, feel you tight around me, I want you desperate for me to fuck you, addicted to me fucking you...” John was tugging rapidly on his cock, Sherlock staring at him intrigued. “I need to come deep inside you, feel you clamp down on my cock, I need...fuck yes, fuck yes, Sherlock you, God Sherlock.” John aimed his cock at Sherlock’s softening prick and painted it with streams of come, milking himself till he was empty. It was the most erotic thing Sherlock had ever seen or heard.  
Finished, John caught his breath, stilled, then smiled.  
“Yes to all of that.” Sherlock appeared to think he needed to reply to John’s verbal wanking binge.  
“Sounds good then?” John giggled.  
“Like Christmas.” Sherlock laughed.

******  
A calmness descended on the flat following the start of sexual relations. It appeared that the sexual tension had ascended to such heights that the very air inside the flat had been charged with the energy. Once Sherlock and John had finally acted on their physical need for each other, it was as if order had been restored. Others commented on it, saying that harmony had come to 221b, and that not only John, but Sherlock, seemed happier and more content. It was true.  
One morning several days following the aborted plane journey into exile, as Mycroft was visiting and the three men were ending the ruse of Moriarty’s return, 221B had unexpected guests.  
Sherlock had several lap tops open, all spread around the room, and he was wandering between them as if orchestrating a military campaign. John was standing in front of the fire needing to make a decision for Mycroft on how far he wanted to go to leverage Mary on the baby’s custody. Mycroft was at repose in Sherlock’s chair awaiting John’s response.  
Mrs Hudson came up the stairs in a hurried and worried manner. “It’s Mary.” She pointed to the stairwell. “She’s here to see John.” All eyes went to John.  
“Oh.” John grimaced. “Not sure I am ready.”  
“She is taking the impetuous.” Mycroft explained. “Bold move.”  
“I’m not leaving.” Sherlock stated looking defiantly at John.  
“I never asked you to.” John replied.  
Before any thing more could be said, Mary entered the flat. Behind her was David.  
“Thought it about time to sort this out.” Mary looked directly at John. “I don’t want to waste anymore time on it to be honest.”  
John glared. Sherlock pulled himself into battle stance.  
“You have obviously come to relinquish the field.” He observed.  
“In a manner of speaking.” Mary remained focused on John. “Look, the marriage isn’t legal, I used a false identity, so you need to have it expunged. The baby isn’t yours, it’s David’s. Won’t go into that. And I am about to move away. New start needed.”  
“Lies on top of lies.” John hissed, clearly upset by Mary’s words.  
“That’s the job I’m in. It’s a requirement. Right Mr Holmes?” Mary quickly glanced at Mycroft. “I was assigned to you John, to get close to you, kill Sherlock if he ever resurfaced. It was a job, just a job. But I did fall for you, it was lovely for a while. But yeah, you were right it would never have worked long term. So moving on, once the baby is born I have a few new projects.”  
“You obviously failed spectacularly at this assignment.” Sherlock frowned in Mary’s direction.  
“Maybe. It’s irrelevant as the client has since died.” Mary shrugged.  
“I just want you to both know, well all three of you to know, that I will finish the job. My reputation to consider.” Mary had a reptilian look about her. “So don’t sit on your laurels. I’ll be in touch.” She made to exit the flat.  
“Ambitious of you.” Sherlock pointed out.  
“I almost got you last time Sherlock, don’t be so cocky. I won’t miss next time. Come on David.” She left the room, David in tow, and Mrs Hudson bringing up the rear to escort them to the front door.  
John looked at Sherlock; “she means every word.”  
“I am presuming that the decision on her future has altered?” Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at John.  
“Yes. War was just declared. Take no enemies.” John gritted his teeth. He looked at Sherlock, a reminder of vows made passed silently between them. John nodded and went into the kitchen.  
“Take care of it Mycroft. It needs to be over for John.” Sherlock looked at his brother.  
Mycroft stood up, took hold of his umbrella, and left the flat silently.  
Sherlock joined John in the kitchen. “Sorry about the baby.”  
“For the best. Sharing custody with her would have been impossible.”  
“Maybe in the future..” Sherlock began.  
John shook his head. “No. No kids Sherlock. Our lifestyle alone would be unsuitable. Plus I am not sure I even wanted children.”  
A silence followed, as they both ran with their own thoughts. Finally John came to resolution, he pulled his posture together and looked at Sherlock.  
“Tea?”

******


End file.
